


Ties That Bind

by theenglishmanwithallthebananas



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Dissociation, Happy Ending, Multi, Slow Burn, archivist!gerry, everyones gonna be dating each other eventually in a big vague poly pile, gerry needs a hug, no beta we die like men who dont know how to write, not like outright stated but im definitely writing him that way intentionally, the major character death is just gerry's before the fic starts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theenglishmanwithallthebananas/pseuds/theenglishmanwithallthebananas
Summary: Elias wasn't quite ready for gertrude to force his hand, and doesn't have a new Archivist picked out yet. He moves a few likely candidates to work in the archives, but the position is still empty.The Eye doesn’t care. It has always had an Archivist, and will have one now, with or without Jonah Magnus’ blessing. And it just so happens to have a loyal follower trapped and waiting on the sidelines, who would do almost anything to be freed. Gerry makes a deal.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Gerard Keay & Jonathan Sims & Tim Stoker & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 25
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

He’s walking, he realizes.

  
It’s not abrupt; he hasn’t been controlled by the Mother or transported by the Spiral. It’s more like…waking up. Or like he’d been lost in thought and forgot to pay attention to his surroundings before now. How long has he been walking? Was there ever even a time before the walking? Yes, Gerard thinks. There must’ve been. Gerard. Gerry. That’s his name. He’s been walking for so long. What was before? He was…scared a lot. And burning books. God, so much blood. His mum. No. He can’t think about that. Walking. Where is he going? The archives, apparently. That makes sense. Gertrude would know what to do. The last time he saw her was—fuck, no. Then there was…a place. Darkness. Cold. _So-small-pain-alone-he-can’t_ —oh. A choice. Become the Archivist, feed the Eye. (Or stay trapped and alone and only half a person forever. Some bloody choice, he thinks bitterly.) But—ah. That means there isn’t an archivist currently.

  
He wonders how she went. With a bang probably. His mouth curls up at that. Gertrude always did love the direct approach. They both always knew where this job led. The crafty old bird probably had plans upon plans left behind for the next Archivist to pick up. Which is him, apparently. God, she would hate that. She always told him…

  
He stops walking.

  
The entrance to the Magnus Institute looms above him. The monument to Jonah Magnus’ hubris. Just another dead idiot in a long line who thought he could control the uncontrollable, and now thousands of people were suffering for it.

  
He could just leave, he supposes. Probably should, really. The Archivist position isn’t neutral, he _knows_ that. Gertrude did her best to make it into something worthwhile, even saved the world a couple of times. But even she left a trail of bodies and discarded broken people in her wake.

  
He takes a deep breath. It’s funny, how much you miss something like that. No one ever thinks about the simple joy of being able to breathe. Not until…well. 

  
It’s early, still. The sun isn’t even up yet, and the streets he’s been walking are far from deserted, but are still quiet; the subdued traffic of people too tired to really pay much attention to anyone else. The Institute won’t be open for another several hours. Someone with his background, he could probably break in, but his hand automatically reaches out to test the door. Unlocked. Right. Nothing for it then, wouldn’t want to upset his patron. He pushes the doors open.

  
His feet carry him down the winding halls to the archives, almost without his input. He doesn’t bother turning on a light. He’s been here enough that he knows the route, and he suspects he’d end up there even if he didn’t. He stops in front of a plain wooden door with a small brass plate on it. _Gerard Keay, Head Archivist._

  
He opens the door.

  
This was her office. He absently trails a hand along the desk. So many secrets hidden in the messy boxes and disused filing cabinets. he fights back another smile. So many people actually believed her doddering old woman act. It had become routine for her to play the fool in public, his elderly mother who simply asked too many rude questions of strangers. Sometimes he could even believe it; that they were just a normal mother and son out on a normal holiday.

  
He thinks about one of their final conversations. She said she was working on a way to stop the Watcher’s Crown. One of the nastier and more imminent rituals, if Gertrude was to be trusted. Not that Gerry did trust her; he knew how ruthless she had been and how easily she lied to him. But no, her plan to burn down the archives, while short-sighted, would have genuinely prevented the Eye ritual. Or at the very least delayed it. —Wait, what? Oh. He Knows now, she had been planning to torch the place. A master of subtlety, he thinks, his mouth quirking into a wry smile. The place was still here though, and she wasn’t. Guess it must not have worked out too well.

  
Maybe he could—he gasps and squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the sudden pain behind his eyes to subside. One hand flies up, clutching his head, the other reaching blindly for the desk to steady himself. After a few agonizing moments, the pain fades and he's able to pull himself back together. Well. Apparently not, then. Guess the Eye doesn't like the idea of destroying its property. Sorry Gertrude. He always had been a coward.

  
He's still trapped then, he’d just traded his last cell for a slightly larger one. Fucking brilliant. The worst part is, he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Which is something he actually has now, apparently. He's here, alive, and if that means helping the Eye get what it wants—well. He already has a long history of helping monsters hurt people, doesn’t he?

  
He pulls away from the desk, but finds his hand lingering over a drawer. Inside, he spots a very familiar book. Well, not a book, not really. Just a single page, bound in simple dark leather. _His_ page. He brushes his fingers along the words detailing his final thoughts (and isn’t that just like the Eye, that even his drug- and pain-addled thoughts as he slipped away couldn’t just be _his_. Or maybe that was just his lot in life.), and feels a phantom echo of hands ghost over the unblemished skin of his back. That’s…creepy. 

  
He should…really be more upset right now, shouldn’t he? His hands are shaking, but he can’t conjure any real sense of anger or fear. He tries again, cautiously poking at the memories of the past year. It…hurts. He’s angry; at Gertrude, at his mum, at whoever left him in evidence storage for so long…he remembers being angry. And terrified. But now, it’s like hearing a story that happened to someone else. The dull ache of a fading bruise, not the sharp sting of being stabbed in the back. The most he can summon is vague resentment. Some part of him thinks he should be afraid of that.

  
God, he needs a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here it is, my first attempt at fiction writing in my entire life. honestly this is a bit of a test, i have the whole timeline mapped out already but in the future i'll probably be tweaking older chapters here and there as we go (and i hopefully become a half-decent writer). maybe i'll even rewrite the whole thing eventually. for now tho, i just wanted to get SOMETHING out there so i have something to build on.
> 
> i have a lot of Thoughts about this au, so if you want to talk to me about it, shoot me an ask [@bananonbinary](https://bananonbinary.tumblr.com) on tumblr, or my sideblog, [@bananaman-writes](https://bananaman-writes.tumblr.com). there'll probably be spoilers at that second one tho, fair warning.


	2. Chapter 2

Martin arrives at work a little earlier than everyone else, like he always does. He isn’t _running away_ from his tiny flat that somehow feels too large and too small at the same time, with barely any furnishings at all and no chance of ever getting visitors, it's just—Look. he doesn’t really have much of a reason to be there anyway, and this job is _really important_ to him, and it's just, just being nice to be able to greet everyone with a head start to their work and a fresh kettle. 

  
He sits down at his desk, trying to figure out where they had left off the day before. The place really is a mess; there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to any of the files scattered around the archives. Martin had been worried at first he was just out of his depth (oh god the others would _know_ and that would be _it,_ he'd have to somehow lie his way into _another_ job…) but everyone else seemed just as bewildered as he was. Jon especially seemed distressed about it, angrily ranting about "proper organization" and snapping at anyone who dared to interrupt him while he was obsessing over finding a pattern ( _Don't be stupid, Martin. Of course there is one, the last head archivist was here for fifty years, she must've been doing something!_ ). Sasha was equally frustrated, but at least didn’t take it out on her coworkers. She just attacked the unruly files with a single-minded ferocity that was, honestly, terrifying. According to Tim, that was just how those two got when they were handed a new puzzle.

  
Right. Yesterday they’d just found _yet another_ unmarked box of loose statements haphazardly thrown in a corner. The papers aren’t even in a stack for god’s sake, it looks like whoever had put them here just threw random pages into a pile. Martin hauls the box onto the desk, coughing as the air is filled with dust and the smell of old glue. He grimaces, but at least this is something he can get started on. He’s a bit rubbish at research, but organizing he can do. He starts pulling the pages out one by one, carefully laying them out on the desk in small stacks based on the year, with unlabeled pages pushed to the side. At some point the others join him, and they sort in mostly comfortable silence, broken up by Tim's and Sasha’s gentle bickering and Jon’s occasional derisive commentary about the previous archival staff. Martin feels an unexpected warmth bloom in his chest. It’s nice. These people, they’re not—not his friends, Martin doesn’t really have friends, but it’s a lot closer than he’d ever gotten in school, or waiting in the hospital with his mum. It’s companionable. A tentative routine they’ve been settling into over the last few weeks.

  
And then the door to the head archivist’s office crashes opens and a complete stranger stumbles out, looking like he hasn’t eaten in a week and has maybe never seen a bed. His piercings and loose clothing are completely at odds with the academic setting. Not that Martin’s _judging—_ he doesn't really fit here either—but, well, it is odd. And from what Martin can see, he appears to be absolutely covered in small…marks of some sort, are those _scars_? They stare. He stares back, an intensity in it that makes it impossible to look away. Martin could swear the man was staring directly at him, _through_ him, flaying him open, even though he can see his eyes flick over to the other three just as much. The man’s face shifts to irritation, and he slumps against the door frame.

“Oh, perfect. just what I need, some lost little lambs in over their heads to get in the way.” It sounds like an accusation. _what_.

“Who the hell are you?” Tim demands. A good fucking question.

The stranger runs a hand through his greasy black hair and groans. “Apparently, I’m your boss now. You should be nicer to me. Got a shiny plaque and everything.” He points to the door he just came out of. Sure enough, a sign that Martin has _definitely_ never seen before announces in neat letters that the head archivist of the Magnus Institute is Gerard Keay now. Apparently. 

The man—Gerard—squints at them again and then, well, he doesn't soften exactly, but deflates a little as he seems to resign himself to… _whatever_ he thinks this is. “Okay. Do whatever you want, just don’t bother me.” And with that, he turns back into the—his—office and closes the door, hard. The sound echoes in the small space for a long moment.

Martin is the first to break the silence. “O-Okay. What the _hell_ was that? Did Elias say anything to anyone about this?”

“Well he certainly didn’t tell _me._ ”

“I thought he was going to give the job to Sasha.”

“I’m going to talk to him.”

“No need Sasha.” Elias is standing in the doorway. Martin startles violently, almost knocking over a stack of papers. Jesus _Christ_ , people need to stop _doing that_. At least the others aren't hiding their surprise much better. Elias holds up a hand to silence them before anyone can ask any questions. “I need to have a word with our new Archivist myself.”

  
______________

  
“Ah, Mr. Keay. It seems congratulations are in order. I trust you’re settling in to your new _position._ ” 

Gerry doesn’t stand up. His feet are on the desk and his chair is tipped back precariously. Just because he’s stuck here doesn’t mean he has to like it. And he has no interest in playing along with whatever weird little office sitcom fantasy is going on here. “You must be Elias. heard about you.”

“Only good things, I hope.” Elias smiles, the picture of professional amiability. He smiles like a shark.

Gerry snorts. “Nope. She really wasn’t a big fan, but i’m guessing you already Knew that.” He narrows his eyes.

“There’s no need for such hostility Mr. Keay. We are all on the same side here.”

“Are we? News to me.”

“I must say I was surprised to find you in our employ; I don’t remember hiring you. And I pride myself on keeping a very close eye on my institute.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Don’t you just already Know? Thought that was your thing.”

“Enlighten me then. Just how did you become the Archivist?”

Gerry makes a vague noncommittal noise. It could be a trap. Some sort of weird mind game to let his guard down. But if he really doesn't Know, then like hell is Gerry going to offer up any new information.

Elias stares at him. Gerry stares back. it goes on for an oppressively long time, but Elias doesn’t seem to find whatever he’s looking for.

“I do hope you’ll be a good fit here. The last Archivist really left the place in a state, and now the dear woman is no longer employed here. If I were you, I wouldn’t follow in her footsteps too closely.”

Gerry clenches his jaw and doesn’t say anything.

“Of course, you’ll have full use of the archival assistants, they really are quite good at their jobs. I picked them out personally, you know.”

“I don’t need assistants.” Gerry grits out. He may have signed up for this, but throwing innocent people into the grinder wasn’t part of the deal. He can work alone.

“Gertrude always seemed to find them quite useful.”

“I’m. not. Gertrude.”

“Be that as it may, I’m afraid I really must insist. Your team is here to stay.” There’s that smile again. “And I’d really hate to imagine what sort of trouble they could get into in this line of work without your guidance.”

The threat hangs in the air for a long moment.

“Fine. I’ll _work with them_.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page," Elias says brightly. "I think you’re going to do great things here Mr. Keay. Now, let’s go introduce you to the team properly.”

Elias sweeps out of the office and into the main space. Asshole. Gerry finally stands up, shoves his hands in his pockets and slumps after him.

Elias is addressing the room. “Excuse me everyone, I’ll let you return to your work in a moment, but I thought I’d answer some of your questions first. Yes, Mr. Keay here is the new Head Archivist.” He pauses a moment and puts on a very convincing mask of contrite concern. “I apologize for not informing you beforehand, but it was all quite sudden. He has a great deal of experience in the field, and I think will make a wonderful asset for the institute.”

Gerry just rolls his eyes. Experience. Right. The other people in the room look cautious, and more than a little confused, but achingly open. They actually seem to _trust_ him. Do they really not know _anything_? God, this was going to be hell.

Elias smiles again, warm and encouraging. “I know this is all very shocking, but I have full confidence that you all will be able to adjust and turn this into a productive archive in no time.”

“Now.” He claps his hands, and—oh thank christ— _finally_ moves to leave the room. “Why don’t you all try to get better acquainted.”

Gerry turns to the four remaining people in the room, and realizes abruptly that now he actually has to _talk_ to these people. The people who are now staring at him, not with the Watcher’s gaze, but just regular human expressions of anger and distrust and disbelief and, worst of all, expectation.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise they'll actually talk to each other in the next chapter, but this one took so long to get through i didnt want to make everyone wait too long. also im tired of looking this. tune in next time for gerry to confront the mortifying ordeal of talking to a human person that isnt even kind of a monster for more than 3 seconds.
> 
> i have a lot of Thoughts about this au, so if you want to talk to me about it, shoot me an ask [@bananonbinary](https://bananonbinary.tumblr.com) on tumblr, or my sideblog, [@bananaman-writes](https://bananaman-writes.tumblr.com). there'll probably be spoilers at that second one tho, fair warning.


	3. Chapter 3

They’ve moved to the break room. Martin is busying himself making tea for everyone, because apparently _that’s_ what he defaults to in bizarre situations. Idiot, no one needs _tea_ right now, they need _answers_. At least it gives him something to do instead of stew in the middle of the awkward stare-down. The warm cups in his hands are a welcome distraction from the oppressive tension behind him; like hell does he want to get in the middle of _that_. 

The other—archival assistants, he guesses they are now, actual proper assistants, not just a job title—are sitting at the table. Martin’s only known them a short time, but he prides himself on his ability to read people. It’s amazing what you can pick up about a person when they don’t think anyone will notice.

Sasha, carefully guarded, her slowly drumming fingers the only betrayal that she’s upset. Martin knows she won’t complain, not in front of her coworkers, but everyone knows how hard she’s worked. 

Jon, hands fidgeting in his lap and eyes darting around the room, never landing on any one thing long enough to really look at it. Jon finds comfort in routine, in knowing what to do, this whole thing clearly has him panicking without any sort of script to fall back on. 

Tim, sitting at the side of the table, angling himself so he’s a little bit closer to Gerard than the others are. He’s not even trying to hide his glare.

The man himself is flopped over on the couch, staring back with decidedly unimpressed annoyance. This is getting unbearable.

“Alright, tea!” Martin blurts out. He carefully places three mugs in front of his coworkers, before turning to Gerard. “I, uh, I didn’t really know how you take it, so I just…” He falters, hastily handing the mug off before decidedly _not_ fleeing to sit next to Sasha. She flashes him a small reassuring smile, and he almost manages to return it.

“So…..” Gerard starts. He doesn’t continue.

“What the hell is this?” Tim practically hisses. “You really think you can just walk in off the street and start acting like our boss—”

Gerard makes a face. “Oh my god, I _really_ don’t care about your little office sitcom here. You think that this is about promotions and benefits and, and better pay? Worried about your retirement fund? You people really don’t know _anything_ do you?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, _really_? What is your problem? We’re the ones that are actually _supposed_ to be here!”

Gerard holds his hands up, placating. “Okay, okay. I get it, you don’t want me here. I don’t actually want me to be here either, but let’s just say the…alternative wasn’t an option.” He grimaces. “But I am here now, so we might as well do our jobs.”

“Thought we were just in over our heads and getting in the way?”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “I mean. You are that. Listen. This place is dangerous. And now that you’re here, you can’t leave. You might as well know enough to not, you know, die.”

Bafflement colors Tim’s anger. “What the hell? Is that supposed to be some sort of weird threat?”

Gerard raises an eyebrow. “God, I wish. That’d be way simpler. No, the things out to get you—us—are a lot scarier than _me_. You must know something, working at a place like this.”

Sasha pipes up cautiously. “I…did work in artifact storage for a few months. It was….” She shudders.

“Yeah.” Gerard shoots her a small sympathetic smile. “So, look. Crash course on all the _weird_ that’s out there…”

Gerard continues on for a while. 14 things—entities—causing and feasting on the world’s fear. Like colors, he says. And one of them apparently has domain over the Magnus Institute. Over _them_. Martin is suddenly extremely glad the tea he’s holding disguises the tremor in his hands.

Martin’s not stupid. He’s not sure he even believes that this complete stranger just showed up out of nowhere to, what, help them? Tie everything strange about the world up in a neat little bow? But he can’t just dismiss everything out of hand either. Gerard can bluster and yell at Tim all he wants, but Martin reads people. He looks…exhausted. Resigned. Vaguely terrified. Gentle cracks underneath his flippancy: the circles under his eyes dark enough to be bruises, the deliberately casual way he’s sitting that still keeps both feet on the floor, the way his eyes flicker to the door every time anyone moves, but he still tilts his chin up. Even if he isn’t telling the truth, this is not a man trying to screw with them. At the very least, Martin trusts that _whatever_ the reason he’s here, it wasn’t his choice, and he’s scared of it.

A strange sound fills the air. No, not a sound, not really, just a…a sense that something’s happening. Some reaction or process charging the air. Like the buzz of electricity, but sitting in the back of his skull and under his skin. Gerard leans forward, suddenly deadly serious.

“Two of you are already marked by them.” He nods in Tim’s direction. “The Stranger, was it? Nasty one. I’m sorry, truly. and,” He looks at Jon now. “The spider? It’s old, but it’s still there.”

The feeling fades.

Jon goes deathly still.

Tim sucks in a shaky breath. “You can’t possibly— So, so what are you then? Another monster?”

“No.” He pauses, then gives a sardonic smile. “Well, not like that at least. That was just…something I’ve picked up over the years. Look, it doesn’t matter. the point is, you all know this is real.”

No one looks up. The silence presses down on them, heavy.

Sasha breaks it first. “Right, okay, I think that’s enough for today. We should all go…process. Unless you have some…assignments for us, new boss?”

Gerard deflates, no longer an expert expositing on horrible gods, just a man who’d rather be anywhere but here. He stands up to leave. “No, uh, probably best if you all just keep doing what you were doing. I’ve got…my own work to do.” He pauses at the door, looking incredibly awkward suddenly.

“….I, er, don’t actually know any of your names.”

  
______________

“Jon? Are you alright?”

Jon jumps, nearly throwing the folder he’s holding. It’s just Martin. It’s fine. He’s fine. He shoots Martin a glare.

“It’s just, you kind of disappeared after—you know.” Jon does know. He knows that some complete stranger came into his place of work, casually lectured everyone on things that aren’t real, _can’t_ be real, because _if they’re real_ —

Martin squints up at him. “What are you even doing back here?”

“Yes, _thank you_ for your concern Martin, I am trying to organize some of this mess. You know, do our _actual_ jobs, not entertain the ravings of a lunatic.” Especially if those ravings include things he never told anyone about. Was this man like—like—

No. He can’t be, and he isn’t. Jon struggles to get his breathing under control. 

Martin raises an eyebrow at him. “By yourself. In a dusty old back room none of us have touched yet. Without even telling anyone what you were doing.”

“I’m _fine_.” Jon growls back. Why is it so hard to breathe? Webs, cobwebs, reaching around his neck and clawing down his mouth and clogging his nose and—

“Jon, listen. I can see how upset you are. I’m your friend, let me—”

“Oh, is that what you are?” Jon snaps.

Martin looks like he’s been struck. Jon immediately wants to take it back, but Martin is already schooling his features back into polite, if guarded, concern. “Alright. I’ll leave you alone. Just, just talk to someone Jon. It doesn’t have to be me, but someone.”

“Martin—” Too late. Martin’s gone, and Jon’s alone again. He leans back against the wall, sliding to the floor and burying his face in his hands. Another flawlessly executed social interaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s1 jon can have little a being mean to martin. as a treat. 
> 
> up next: the gang settles into their new norm.
> 
> i have a lot of Thoughts about this au, so if you want to talk to me about it, shoot me an ask [@bananonbinary](https://bananonbinary.tumblr.com) on tumblr, or my sideblog, [@bananaman-writes](https://bananaman-writes.tumblr.com). there'll probably be spoilers at that second one tho, fair warning.


End file.
